


Falls Fortress

by RinleyCoyote



Category: Gravity Falls, Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, Found Families, Friendship, Gen, Stress, Support, Trauma, Violence, Zodiac (Gravity Falls), falls fortress au, this is very silly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:48:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10075022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinleyCoyote/pseuds/RinleyCoyote
Summary: A crazy AU in which those represented on Bill's Zodiac are trapped in a prison bubble, causing them to wake up in an unfamiliar place with a set of ominous instructions detailing what their lives are about to become. How much blood, patience and will must be spent to escape a world designed to wear them down? No ships here, just family.





	1. Chapter 1

First, Stanley was aware of the hot sun on his face followed by a strange shuffling sound right by his ears, like a hedgehog was trying to get cozy in his hair.

He opened his eyes. Sure enough, sun. He squinted, raising a hand to block it, orange sand sprinkling from his sleeve into his face. Stan groaned and tried to prop himself up, disorientedly wondering why there would be a pile of sand in his yard. He'd have to get Soos to build a sand box and charge tourists to let their kids play in it. What a hassle.

His head swam a little as he sat up, the purple bloom from the sun clouding his vision. He turned his face to the ground to let his eyes adjust instead of craning his neck around blindly.

More sand- well, more like loose red dirt now that he looked at it. Had he passed out here? It was all over. It looked and smelled hauntingly familiar. Like money and old cars and painfully long nights. Spots be damned, he snapped his attention to his surroundings, which consisted of several large buildings across some kind of moat under a covered bridge. They were tall and concrete yet somehow unorganized-looking. A town, maybe? Some kind of modern company building?

Stan’s hand brushed something heavy beside him as he reached up to rub his eyes. It was a helmet, old and scratched with something painted hastily on the front. He lifted if from the sand and shivered.

“What-?” he said out loud, turning the helmet around and puzzling the sight of a familiar hungry fish symbol. The rest of the helmet was nothing remarkable though he did not recognize it.

His eyes trailed down to his sleeves, which were long and red. He was wearing a uniform of some kind, he thought, with spats and a heavy belt and-

“Are these… no way,” he suddenly felt the urge to crawl away from the two bright orange grenades strapped to his chest.

Stan ran a hand through his hair, knocking more dust out. Was he dreaming? Yeah, this was a weird dream. He must've eaten something bad and soon he'd wake up, probably go hang out by the toilet for a few minutes just in case and carry on. He crossed his arms as a light breeze picked up to wait it out and caught sight of something on his arm. Just like the helmet, his upper sleeves bore a yellow circle with a fish in the center. He cracked a crooked grin. Army of Stan, huh? Army of one as always.

“Stanley?” said a voice from behind him and his ears turned hot, though he couldn't tell quite why. He turned a little to see Ford staring at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed in the doorway of one of several large buildings grouped together on this side of the bridge. These were wooden and looked like a barn designed by the world’s worst farmer, the red paint peeling in the sun and the outer structure creaking long and slow in the wind.

“Ford. Come to tell me something I already know, I'm sure.”

His brother quirked an eyebrow. He was wearing a long white lab coat and bright red rubber gloves (with the appropriate amount of fingers). On his sleeves were printed red circles, the middles of which were cut out in the shape of his handprint. Stan frowned a little.

“Oh great, another dream about your freaking ambition-” He raised his hands sarcastically. “Now he’s a surgeon, we’re so proud, woohoo.”

Ford scowled, stepping down the ramp towards him. “This isn't a dream, Stanley. Get up.” His brother seemed to be a little hot too, but just why Stan couldn't quite place.

“Then what is it? Why’m I dressed like it's World War II?” He stood slowly, taking the helmet with him and turning it around so the symbol was visible. “Look,” he said, pointing. “Kinda specific, don’tcha think?”

Ford opened his mouth to say something and closed it again. “Come with me.”

-

“Where are we going?” Stan asked as he was led down into the structure. The barn-from-hell outside, he discovered, was merely a facade, hiding the long, twisting concrete hallways and rooms beyond. “Where even are we?”

When Ford didn't answer, Stan grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around to face him. “What's going on?” he growled.

His brother shoved Stan’s hand away and he wondered if he might be in for it. He contemplated raising a guard arm just in case, but instead Ford screamed “I don't know!” It was quiet between them for a moment, their gruff voices chasing each other in echoes around the room.

“I don't… know.” Ford repeated softly. “I woke up here, just as you did. I've found Fiddleford, Dipper and the dead one-” He paused as Stan’s eyes widened and waved his hands frustratedly. “Not dead! The- the one with the floppy hair.”

“Y’mean Robbie?” Stan crossed his arms and smirked.

Ford ignored him. “And I've sent Soos to see if anyone else is out there.” He motioned again for Stan to follow and they went a bit more slowly. “None of them know anything either.”

“Are they all dressed-”

“Like us? Not quite. Fiddleford seems to be dressed as a construction worker and Dipper has on a baseball uniform and- Robbie, was it? I have no idea. He had-” Ford’s eye caught the grenades on Stan’s chest and raised his eyebrows. “Grenades, yes. I wonder if you aren't somehow similar. I'm a doctor of some kind, though not the right kind and Soos-” Stan listened to him drone on for another minute or two, letting his attention wander to the structure itself. It was slightly cooler down here and the various rooms they passed contained all kinds of strange platforms. Occasionally they passed a poster or bulletin board with notes pinned to it as though the place were active. Come to think of it-

“Hey, Ford?” Stan asked, tapping the edge of the helmet in his hands. His brother stopped mid-sentence and glanced at him annoyedly.

“Have you seen… anyone else? Anyone you didn't recognize?”

“No, have you?”

“Nope.” They looked at each other with concern as they approached a door on the right labeled “Medic”.

“Grunkle Ford! Grunkle Stan!” shouted Dipper from across what looked to be a lab or sick bay of some kind. It certainly smelled like one- Stan’s nose wrinkled a little at the disinfectant that burned his sinuses. The boy ran to meet them, a look of relief coupled with that endless worry that hung over his head like a cloud.

“Ey, Kiddo!” Stan grabbed the whole top of Dipper’s head in his hand and ruffled his hat, leaving him to readjust it and something else.

“What kinda baseball player wears a headset?” He asked.

“I just woke up with it!” he replied, fiddling with the knob on the side. “And this…” He retrieved a bag from a nearby chair and unzipped it, showing Stan the two baseballs, picture of a girl he didn't recognize and three cans of something called Bonk! soda. “It doesn't make any sense…”

Stan looked over the contents quietly, noticing the lines between his nephew’s eyebrows.

“Hey, uh,” he said quickly. “I dunno either, Kid, but you got free stuff. I got free stuff too, but I can't drink mine.” He laughed, gesturing to the explosives.

Dipper nodded slowly. He was too young to be having looks like that already. Stan decided to turn his attention elsewhere for now. Ford was writing something down, as always, having some quiet conversation with Old Man McGucket. In the back corner of the room, he could see Robbie, who was curled up in another chair, his own grenades discarded nearby.

“Hey, Sixer,” Stan interrupted. “You said there might be more of us? In that case I'm gonna go have a look around.” He could see Dipper’s expectant, almost frantic expression out of the corner of his eye. “Gonna go find that other gremlin.”

Ford nodded distractedly. “I’ll be around as well in a while-” his voice trailed off as he went back to scribbling.

“Dipper, I think they need your help here,” Stan said, cutting off the request to accompany him that was very obviously sitting on the boy’s tongue. “You're part of the Nerd Squad now or whatever you wanna call it.” He smiled crookedly. “I’ve gotta make sure Mabel didn’t get any freebie grenades, too. She’ll go mad with power.”

Dipper couldn’t muster a smile. He sighed disappointedly but dragged a chair over to where they were now mapping out the parts of the building they’d been to and Stan slipped out into the deathly quiet hall.

\--

Stan shuffled along another hallway, listening intently for the slightest sound. As far as they knew, they were alone but there was an itch in his spine that told him otherwise and made him wish he’d had a set of brass knuckles stowed away in one of the boxy pouches on his belt. He’d looked in them briefly, finding some lint and shotgun shells in one and an entire rolled-up piece of bread in the other. Had… he put that there? Now that he thought about it, he did feel a little hungry but the bread seemed to move when his hand got too close so he closed the lid, determining that it could wait til later when his head was clear. He didn’t like the thought of a broken hand should he have to fight, but it was better than nothing.

Stan passed many doors, some of which had safety glass like the lab. Others were plain, sometimes with labels, sometimes without. Back here, the structure looked a bit different. Instead of nonsensical platforms, it was laid out like a bunker of some kind with a closed garage door around one corner and other break-type rooms elsewhere, including a kitchen. The rest of the doors were locked and, after pressing an ear to at least three and hearing nothing on the other side, he decided to continue until he found a key or some other method with which to open them.

Another hallway and then some stairs. He could tell he was making a full loop as the strange layout returned. Against his better judgement, Stan broke the silence.

“Soos! Mabel!” he called, following the steps down. His voice echoed back, deeper than he anticipated. What the hell was this place?

“Soooos!” he called again as he reached a small room full of strange vents and buttons with a door across from him labeled KEEP OUT in bold, red lettering. To his right, there was a long, dark tunnel full of water.

“Yeesh, a sewer?” he grumbled, though the smell was no worse than any normal underground water-filled pipe. Somehow this fact didn’t make him feel any better.

“Hello?” he asked from the short steps leading down into the water, grimacing as he looked down into it. It was murky but not entirely so and that, at the very least, was comforting. Stan looked to his right down a second tunnel that stretched off into the dark as well and sighed, dreading getting his feet wet. He didn’t even know if he’d find anything down here… Who would seriously even come down here in the first place? His eyes wandered as he thought and he noticed how the water lapped against the side of the tunnel on the left, kicking up brown sediment, then how the right side was perfectly calm and clear. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped carefully down, his boots squelching and started down the left tunnel into the dark.

“Only you, Soos, only you.” Stan lifted his hands to his mouth and called again.

-

Barely a minute had gone by before the chatter started. First, a normal call, then several voices talking over one another, then the unmistakeable yell of his great-niece.

“Mabel!” Stan tried to pick up his pace a bit but the water was just high enough to make it impossible. From the echoes, it was hard to tell exactly what she was saying but she sounded all at once desperate and excited. The second, lower voice must have been Soos and the third- well, it was complaining, loudly. With a drawl.

“Who’s there?!” wailed Gideon as the three silhouettes came into view as one three-headed beast. Stan took several steps back, uncertain of what he was looking at in the dark. He squinted, barely able to make out the forms of the two children riding on Soos’ shoulders.

“Grunkle Staaan!” Mabel squealed, launching herself off of the handyman like a cat and nearly knocking Stan over as she landed squarely in his arms. He grunted then laughed, the tunnel filled to the brim with voices.

“Mr. Pines, are you okay?” Soos asked windedly. “How long’ve you been down here?”

“Just long enough to find you. Followed your dirt trail,” Stan replied, slipping Mabel onto his own shoulders. “Ford said you were out here somewhere so I wanted to take a look around.” He looked over his shoulder towards the light and motioned for Soos to follow. “Let’s get out of the dark. This place is creepy as hell.”

As they walked, Gideon put a hand dramatically to his chest. “Alas, Mabel, we were once so close.”

“Can it, Shorty!” Stan patted Mabel’s foot reassuringly and she huffed frustratedly, laying her arms over the top of his head. Soon, they’d found their way back to the end of the tunnel. At least, Stan thought, he was surrounded by familiar faces again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I've written a fanfic, so I apologize for any odd bumps in the road. Thanks and enjoy!


	2. Chapter 2

“Found em’”, said Stan casually, leading the way into the lab. Despite several minutes of walking, the four left quite the water trail.

When Mabel caught sight of her brother, she drummed on Stan’s head excitedly and slid down the belt across his back, throwing herself into Dipper’s arms. Stan expected them to be saying more but he now saw the shaking in the girl’s shoulders. He felt his throat tighten a little.

Ford was nowhere to be seen at the moment- probably doing one last sweep to make sure they hadn't missed anyone. He noticed the helmet he didn't remember discarding and picked it up off the nearby operating table, contemplating wearing it but stuffing it under one arm instead.

Mabel turned her face out of Dipper’s shoulder and made a face. “Aww, you got a hat?”

Stan chuckled and sat down. “Yep. What’d you get, Kid?”

“Just these weird-” she backed off, showing her strange, billowy jumpsuit complete with suspenders, a heavy pair of gloves just her size and- Stan’s eyes widened- more freaking grenades?

“Uh, Sweetie, maybe we should-” he motioned for her to come a bit closer.

“So she doesn't go mad with power?” Dipper chuckled nervously.

“Somethin’ like that.” Carefully he unclipped the explosives from her uniform and laid them out on the table behind him. “Y’know what-” he stopped mid-sentence, unclipping his own and adding them to the pile.

“Now I’m free!” Mabel howled, dancing around the room like her old self. Good.

“So what're you supposed to be?” Stan asked, jabbing a finger in Gideon’s direction. “Business terrible?”

Gideon’s cheeks turned a little pinker than usual. “I'll have you know I kinda like the pinstripes!” He gestured to the tiny suit with enthusiasm. “And I had this on when I woke up.” He fished around in his pockets and pulled out a limp piece of fabric with two large holes cut out of the front- clearly a mask of some kind.

“So you're just crooked business terrible then,” Stan started laughing.

“No, dude, really, he scared the living daylights outta me!” Soos chimed in, waving his arms and effectively interrupting Gideon’s next comeback. Stan was too distracted by what he saw to properly respond.

“Soos, what are those?” He pointed hesitantly to the large bandolier across his handyman’s chest. Soos’ eyes followed and he shrugged.

“I dunno. I thought they were bullets but they kinda also look like crayons.”

Stan swallowed. The longer they were here, the more questions he had. But a quick glance around the room at everyone’s expressions told him they were thinking similarly.

“Stanley, did you bring a sea monster in here?” came Ford’s voice from behind Soos as he opened the door. Soos leapt to the side in surprise, making room for Ford, a relatively normal-looking Wendy and a very not-okay Pacifica trailing behind him.

“There were sewers!” Stan retorted, holding up a wet boot. “I'm not happy about it either.”

Mabel immediately threw her arms around Pacifica and fawned over her outfit- a simple purple skirt and button-down shirt of a similar shade.

“Ugh, I look like I Love Lucy!”, she whined, trying not to cry anymore. Mabel laughed and pointed out that she herself was wearing some kind of weird bag and the other girl agreed slowly that that was much, much worse. Across the room, Robbie looked up for the first time, Stan supposed, since he'd sat down. He stood, awkwardly and Wendy embraced him.

“This whole thing just blows,” he said, trying to find pockets to shove his hands into.

“Yeah, but we look awesome!” said Wendy, flicking the edge of her wide-brimmed hat. She looked like she'd been, at one point, a bit shaken but Stan could see the color returning to her face- to all of their faces.

“Old man Banjo over there found me and-” Stan’s attention moved elsewhere. The room was full of chatter now. More familiar faces in a strange place. He wasn't quite sure why these people though. Was the rest of the town hidden somewhere in this building? Before he could say more, Ford flopped something on the table behind him with a hollow clang. Stan leapt up and turned around, the others gathering to take a closer look as well.

“What's that, Grunkle Ford?” asked Dipper.

“I found this right before I ran into Wendy and-” He looked at Pacifica but, her name and his care of learning it escaping him, he continued. “It's a briefcase… obviously. It was on a desk in a strange kind of office near what I assume is the center of this complex. It had this on it.” He pulled a sticky note which read “Open me” in neat cursive from his pocket and held it up for the others to see. “The combination’s in place already, though Wendy showed up before I could get a proper look at it.” Without another word, he reached out to unlatch it when Stan caught his wrist.

“Woah, now, Sixer.” Ford shot him an immediate defensive glare and Stan frowned. “Don't open random briefcases you find?” The pair turned their attention briefly to the pile of grenades now accumulated on the other end of the operating table and Ford’s expression softened a little. The rest of them took a generous step back.

“It's the only clue we’ve found so far about this place,” said Ford softly.

“Mr. Pines is… kinda right though,” said Wendy, shrugging, then pointed to Stan. “That Mr. Pines, no offense.”

There was a heavy silence for a moment as Ford rubbed his chin in thought. Stan merely stared at the bright red leather of the little briefcase as though expecting some kind of answer.

“Alright, fellas,” said a voice from behind them. Fiddleford hopped down from his chair, fidgeting uncomfortably in his boots for a moment but ultimately deciding to ignore them for now. “Lemme take a look.”

He lifted the briefcase from the table without hesitation and began shaking it. Everyone jumped back again except Ford, who fumbled to try and stop him. Fiddleford, appearing very much like a squirrel with an acorn, placed his ear to the leather and listened. Ford withdrew his hands, bewilderment in his features and watched as the man shook it again and listened. After a moment he cracked a snaggletoothed grin.

“She’s clean. Open ‘er up,” he chortled, laying the box back on the table. Stan put a hand to his chest like his lungs would run away if he didn't hold them in and Dipper had to sit down for a minute but hopped right back up when Ford clicked the latches and opened the briefcase.

“Aw, paper?!” Mabel cried, peering over the edge of the table. “Boring!”

Ford paid their mumbles no mind as lifted the single stack of three immaculately-stapled pages from the table inside of the otherwise empty case and began to read.

“Uh, Ford?” Stan nudged. “Y’wanna… read that out loud?”

Ford snapped back to reality and, seeing all of the expectant faces, nodded. “Of course.”

Though he read it aloud in his own voice, a strange kind of apprehension hung in the air as though it had been written by and for the voice of someone… else.

Welcome to Teufort and congratulations! it began.

You have been hand picked for some of the most sought-after, vital jobs in the world by none other than Redmond Mann himself of Reliable Excavation and Demolition, or RED. Long has Mr. Mann struggled against his inferior twin brother Blutarch for the land and resources he rightfully owns. Years ago, Blutarch schemed to have his brother killed by way of mercenaries and a war between the two began.

The note went on to explain their purpose for being there- fight Blutarch’s men in formal, regulated matches, steal their “intelligence”, which was also in the form of a briefcase in the base opposite theirs. Their curiosity morphed slowly into concern.

“Wait wait,” Stan interrupted. “Fight? As in-” Again, as though the punchline to some awful joke, he glanced at the pile of grenades on the table. He'd expect Ford to lecture him on interrupting as usual but he only furrowed his eyebrows as though lost in his own world. He kept reading:

It is very likely that some of you are experiencing memory loss of some fashion and have many questions. Rest assured, these are a very real and normal part of the acclimation process and over time, more will be revealed to you- consider it incentive to do your very best in retrieving intelligence. In the meantime, there are several rules that must be adhered to in order to ensure a safe and enriching work experience while on this team.

Stan shivered. Enriching?

1\. Your uniforms dictate your roles, which have been carefully assigned to you based on your skills and talents. Attempting to deviate from this role will cause chaos and may result in an automatic forfeit of any current match. Your weaponry, extra uniforms and personal room keys are located in the armaments room at the very back of the base, marked with the corresponding symbols on your uniforms. Further information on your individual classes can be found on the doors to your rooms.

2\. While matches are timed, scheduled, and heavily monitored with cameras, we realize that these fights can get ugly. That being said, please do not attempt to cross the threshold of the opposing base during off hours, personal reasons or otherwise. Attempting to do so will result in instant respawn.

Ford paused and skimmed the last two sentences again, squinting. He tried his best to remain stoic until he’d gotten out all the information, uncomfortable as it was making him. 

3\. We recommend that, due to the physical and mental requirement of the matches that you maintain your health as much as possible. This base is equipped with any amenities you may require. Check the map for locations. Failure to participate in matches will result in penalties. Remember, the information we want is just as important as the information you want and we enforce any right to withhold valuable information and resources should you fail to complete your duties. We don't ask for perfection, just participation.

4\. We realize that the confusion upon your arrival may be alarming and the deserts of New Mexico are beautiful this time of year, but it is recommended that you stay within the perimeter of Teufort Arena, which includes both bases, the space in-between and the half-mile around. Should you decide to leave, know that you will not be aided should death or injury occur as the respawn machine’s radius is only as large as the arena. The perimeter is clearly marked so there is no confusion.

“Grunkle Ford,” said Dipper, looking a little pale, Ford thought, “What exactly do they mean by… ‘respawn?’” His words were already starting to sound somehow fake.

He shouldn't have to ask that. None of them should and he shouldn't have to tell them. Ford swallowed, his voice beginning to quiver. “Well… it sounds like we’ll be… reborn, somehow?” He’d met races in other worlds that could do this- return again and again through various means, being effectively immortal. He wondered what that process might look like and how they’d managed to achieve such a thing in a place like this.

“Oh yeah, dude,” chimed in Soos. “You've played video games before, right? You don't stay dead when you die.” He pictured himself returning in a burst of blue light, being built from nothing in the center of a white room and nodded thoughtfully.

“This isn't a game, Soos,” Stan gave him a very serious eye. While he knew his handyman was probably attempting to cope with his own nervousness in his own way, his own worry was quick to snuff it out.

“No, maybe he's onto something,” Wendy added. “But then that means-”

“We have to die?!” Pacifica squealed, her gaze suddenly a million miles away. Mabel wanted to put a hand on her shoulder but found that she was quite frozen.

“Well it ain't entirely out of the realm of possibility.” Fiddleford scratched his beard. “Though I might need a right minute to figure out how.”

Ford waved his hand in an attempt to shush them long enough to finish reading, having skimmed ahead a bit. The paper was beginning to wrinkle in his grip.

5\. As with any dangerous job, death is always a possibility. While there are measures in place to ensure that team members can be healed quickly during matches, there is no guarantee of survival on any given day. Each of you has been equipped with a patented respawn chip which, should death occur, can be read by our own respawn machine anywhere within the perimeters of the arena, copying your genetic code upon death and rebuilding an exact copy from scratch, restoring you down to the very last toe hair and memory.

There, Ford stopped. The silence in the room was heavier than ever, leaving only the buzz of the fluorescent lights above. This wasn't real. Couldn't be real. Stan curled his fist in a little, digging his fingernails into his hand, searching for sensation and his stomach turned. Nope, not a dream.

The rest of the instructions were a dumb schedule. Fight times, more congratulations and a menacing signature at the very end from someone called “The Administrator.” Through some cruel joke, their first fight was in three short days to “give them time to adjust” and “make themselves at home.” What a load of horse shit.

No one moved for a very long time. They stood still as statues, staring at the floor or the walls. Stan tried hard to keep his breathing slow, knowing full well Ford was probably going about this from a logical standpoint. Well, he would too. He'd scrapped all over the country and in countries beyond, sometimes with the aid of a proper weapon, sometimes with nothing but his goddamn teeth. He figured the other team had incentive enough as they did and couldn't be reasoned with and he resolved to give them hell. For everyone in the room- Soos and Wendy and the kids-

Oh god. The kids. The kids in uniforms too big despite their tailored appearance. The kids staring off in shock, trying to write it away as a fantasy but knowing the danger full well. He couldn't even tell how they knew, he just sort of imagined that this kind of finality was familiar to them in some way. He tried to force himself to look at them but only in glances lest he catch their eyes. Keep them safe at all costs, he determined. Even Gideon and that Northwest girl.

Then it was too late. For the briefest of seconds, Stan and Mabel locked eyes. He couldn't help it- they were big and brown and wrong. And soon, they were welling with tears. The edges of Stan’s vision grew strange and purple and his ears rang like he'd been punched already. Panic. He barely realized he'd knelt to her level and scooped her into his large arms before he zoned out completely. In his head, he could see light, warm and pinkish flooding the gift shop of the Mystery Shack. It smelled like dust and cedar- home. Stan stood by some exhibit of a beaver with three heads at the end of the tour, telling tales of how they'd captured it in the lake and that it could grant wishes when it was still alive. He twirled the end of his eight-ball cane in his hand, turning his attention to one of the tourists’ kids as he talked. The little girl gasped in wonder, spitting out the end of one of her chewed, tangled braid to listen. The adults followed, terror and awe in their eyes. By some miracle, he'd lied wonders into their minds, his emotions far enough away to keep from feeling much more than the jovial enthusiasm of the invented character. The momentum had built- the rest of the day would be easy as pie with a first group like that. Stan’s spine stiffened as Mabel’s own hair tickled his face. They were about to have to do unthinkable things, but if he specialized in anything it was doing what was necessary to survive.

With that thought, Stanley Pines stepped back and Mr. Mystery took his place.

At first, he said nothing but took a deep breath and stood, composing himself. “Brave girl,” he muttered softly, setting Mabel back down. She must have heard him as her breath hitched on the way down.

He scratched the back of his neck, his eye catching the clock on the wall by the door. “So,” he began, “Who’s tired? It's past ten.” A bit tactless, but he had to start somewhere. The despondent and borderline angry faces around him told that the answer was no one.

“I don't think I can sleep after-” Dipper’s voice trailed off. He looked up at the others, something between horror and confusion in his eyes. “I don't… want to die.”

“Me neither,” added Wendy.

“You sure there's not a way outta here?” Gideon was wringing his mask in his hands.

“Nothin’ we could find so far,” replied Fiddleford from behind everyone, who held up the crude map they'd drawn to show everyone. “We can keep an eye out though, just in case.”

Ford cleared his throat. “Stanley’s right. There isn't much more we can do right now and staying up all night will only wear us down before-” he shut his mouth promptly, then continued. “We’ll need to fetch the keys first though.”

“Armory? That'll be-” Fiddleford adjusted the green goggles that replaced his glasses. “Down the hall n’ to the right.”

After some debating, they decided to go as a group. Ford led the way through the dim grey halls, the lights having adjusted automatically to the time of day, the odd trail behind him strangely quiet. The door to the armory was like that of a storage unit with the logo of their base painted dead center and a simple sign off to one side indicating that they were in the right place.

The door roared easily open, the room beyond dark like the throat of some huge beast. Fiddleford reached in and flipped a small switch on the wall which brought to light a small, white room lined with benches, lockers and an assortment of patiently waiting weapons.

Dipper immediately grabbed his hair under his hat and shuddered. “This can't be happening. This can't be real,” he squeaked.

“Oh, it’s real alr-” Robbie spat before Wendy’s elbow in his side shut him up.

The rest were silent. Ford and Fiddleford looked at each other apprehensively, the bearded man quickly slipping a large ring of keys off a hook on the wall near the door.

“We can look into this more tomorrow, fellas,” he said, jingling the keys.

“Yep. Bedtime, kiddos.” Stan’s cheerful tone could not disguise the nerves in his own voice. Nevertheless he marched on towards their individual rooms, loud and unyielding as ever.

The rooms were labeled twice. Once with an official-looking tag not unlike that by the armory and the other with a sticky note bearing the hastily-written name of each of their group members. Soos’ was first. “Heavy Weapons Guy,” it said and he couldn't help but smile at the phrasing. The inside was well-furnished with a large easy chair, desk, and several books in Russian. Not exactly what he would have chosen, Soos thought, but not bad either.

Dipper’s was next. He peered in uncomfortably at first but Mabel made one joke about the way it smelled and he turned an immediate shade of pink.

“Scout sounds perfect,” she giggled and pointed at his legs. “Put those noodles to use!” He knew why she did it but he still threw one of the strange lone socks at her.

Once the first two had been discovered, the rest came easily. Gideon’s room, “Spy” had an odd extra lock which took Fiddleford a few minutes to open, but beyond it was dark and lovely and very unfitting, Stan thought, for such a sour ankle-biter. Fiddleford’s “Engineer” room was the perfect combination of machines and southern charm, which he took to with great enthusiasm. Wendy’s, “Sniper” was strangely sparse, though a note on the desk quickly explained that the previous occupant rarely used it and issued a stiff, disingenuous apology. Pacifica’s room was unlabeled and seemed much newer than the others and was fairly simple. She complained briefly about the color of the walls and size of the space but the tidiness, she admitted, reminded her very much of home and that she would tolerate living “in basically prison” for now.

Robbie’s room, simply called “Demo Man” gave the older members of the group pause and they exchanged parental glances, quickly sweeping up the various bottles and explosives from the various corners before letting him move in, much to his dismay. The teen tried to argue that he'd been drinking before, thank you very much, but Wendy pointed out that it was one time and he'd made himself sick after half a- she closed her mouth quickly, the eyes of the twins burning holes of guilt into her and she changed the subject. Stan patted her back with a chuckle as they moved on, whispering that she should remind him to tell her sometime about this one time when he and Ford were in high school.

Ford’s room, labeled “Medic” was next. It was pristine like many others, but lighter in color with many books along one wall in various languages. In one corner was a large cage where small shapes flapped around and made a racket when the group poked their heads in.

“Birds. Ya got birds,” Stan said as Mabel ran over to coo back at the cluster of nervous doves. Ford sighed, attempting to hide the frustration of what felt very much like a cruel joke but made no further comment as they turned to leave.

Stan’s room was next.

“‘Soldier’, eh?” he huffed at the sign. “Real specific.” When he reached to turn the knob, he hesitated.

“What is it, Stanley?” asked Ford impatiently.

“Shh, d’you hear that?” Stan held a hand up for the rest to listen closer to the scuffling and chittering coming from the other side. “Think someone’s here?”

The brothers shooed the children out of the way and positioned themselves on either side of the door.

“Think we shoulda grabbed a gun or somethin’?” Stan whispered but Ford just shushed him.

“I think if- Fiddleford, please.” Ford motioned for him to join the others, but the bearded man remained directly in front of the door, slack-jawed and transfixed by the noises inside. Stan waved a hand in his face but he did not budge.

“Uh… you okay?” he asked but just as he was about to nudge him, the man threw himself against the door, grabbing for the knob, wide-eyed and laughing like he'd won the lottery. Before any of them could grab him he’d thrown open the door and more than a few fat, excited raccoons scurried out into the hall. Stan swore as he leapt backwards and the rest of the group could only look on in horror as the scientist was surrounded.

“Free! Free!” Fiddleford shouted, throwing his arms in the air, oblivious to the danger he'd unleashed. But as he danced among them, the animals paused and listened reverently and after a moment, they gathered at his feet and stared back at the brothers with several dozens of black, beady eyes.

Stan was too preoccupied with not fainting from fright to pay too close attention and Ford could only open and close his mouth undecidedly, his words for once failing him.

“Wait, don't you have like, a raccoon wife?” Soos finally asked.

Fiddleford nodded. “That I do!”

“You have forest love magic!” Mabel chimed in, her eyes wide with wonder as Pacifica’s grew to an equal size in horror.

“They probably just… smell her on him or something,” said Dipper, shooting an uncertain look in his great uncle’s direction. “R-right?”

Ford righted himself, shoving his glasses back onto his nose. “Most likely. Though I've never seen such hive-mind behavior from raccoons.”

While they discussed, Stan leaned into the room and flicked the light on. He fully expected it to smell terrible but beyond the strong musk of the animals’ fur, this was not the case. The room was darker than most in both color and the amount of lights, with a single hanging lightbulb which swung slowly and cast moving shadows around him. The bed was made to perfection, with a bedside table that was missing a leg yet somehow still standing and a desk which had been moved to block the closet door. On the wall above the bed was yet another conspiracy web. Stan had grown tired of seeing them because almost everyone in Gravity Falls had one somewhere about something. The question above this one screamed “WHO IS THE CULPRIT?” and in the center was a very simple Polaroid picture of a man enthusiastically spelling out an L with his fingers on his helmet-obscured forehead with the word “ME” written beneath it in sharpie. Stan made a disappointed sound but resolved to move the desk first before he made any official judgements. Maybe this was some kind of art thing- the ironic sort that kids loved so much these days. Maybe-

He scooted the desk to one side and very carefully opened the door. Hundreds of fluffy, golden loaves of bread came tumbling out over one another with a soft shuffling sound.

“Ssshhit…” he sighed, noticing that beyond the bread, the closet was completely empty. Why did everything always have to be weird?

“Well! Nothin’ to see here. Let's go,” he said cheerily as he shut the door behind him.

“What about the raccoons?” Robbie asked. “That's pretty messed up.”

Stan shrugged perhaps a little to enthusiastically. “Must’ve been a mistake. Happens all the time!” He glanced around at the others quickly. “Who's next?”

“Just me!” said Mabel from somewhere behind him. “Saving the best for last!”

Maybe the room tour had lifted their spirits a bit, he thought. Their addled nerves still showed in their postures and faces but their tones of voice were much more lively.

Mabel’s room gave them all pause. Pyro, said the sign by the door and beyond were things just as mixed as the emotions they caused. The walls were painted faint shades of pink and purple, there were stuffed animals posed here and there and glow in the dark stars lined one wall haphazardly. Mabel’s eyes widened as they inspected the space, a dull smoky smell assaulting her nose.

“Dude…” said Soos quietly, “Somebody’s a workaholic.” He held up a stuffed rabbit to show Wendy. Half its face was burned off and the plastic safety eye had melted into the black rock that had once been synthetic fur.

This was true for everything in the room. There were holes in the bedspread, burns on the walls and floor, marring their otherwise harmless appearance.

Robbie opened the closet and stepped back. “Woah,” he said. “Issues, much?” The inside of the closet was so blackened that it felt more like staring into the bottomless pit, Mabel thought, than a place to keep clothing of any kind.

“It's like all these people left in a hurry,” said Dipper. “Or worse.”

“I wonder if they were like us…” added Mabel as she retrieved a stuffed dinosaur with no head from the floor. She gave the creature a quick hug and patted its back reassuringly.

“You got anything to add, Poindexter?” Stan asked, jabbing Ford lightly in the back with his elbow. After a moment his brother turned to face them all.

“What do you remember? Any of you, before this happened?” he asked.

They all looked at eachother after a moment of thought and Ford was met with quite a few shrugs and confused frowns. It occurred to him that he himself could not recall what had happened before he'd opened his eyes on the floor of the medical ward. There were specific occurrences but no coherent series of events that lead up to any sort of cause for their displacement. He rubbed his temples grimly and concluded, “Perhaps we should discuss this more tomorrow.”

“Couldn't agree more,” said Stan and herded everyone but Mabel out, raccoons included. “You gonna be alright in here, Kid?” he asked before exiting.

To his relief, she grinned and hopped up on the bed. “Whoever lived here before has style. Not… great style,” She looked around uncertainly. “But no one’s perfect.”

Stan chuckled warmly. “G’night, Pumpkin.”

-

Robbie lay awake for less than ten minutes before the place started getting to him. Maybe it was the strong alcoholic smell wafting around the room or the way the cracked alarm clock glared at him and cast shadows across his sheets.

This was stupid. He rolled over and huffed. This was worse than stupid.

His thoughts turned to his girlfriend. He could see her now, chasing down that sweet wifi signal with that usual frustration in her voice, too annoyed to be upset by it all. A knot was forming in his throat and he sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and staring into the dark, though the longer he did the longer the back of his neck prickled with horrible anticipation. Finally he could no longer stand it and growled, throwing off his sheets and shuffling towards the door.

Tambry might not be there to talk to, but someone else was.

The buzz of the overhead lights filled the hallways, echoing over one another and adding to the teen’s discomfort. He shoved his hands in his pockets and skulked around the next corner as though he thought portraying disinterest would prevent whatever unnamed horrors in the emptiness from bothering him. Luckily Wendy’s room wasn't that far away.

Her door was already ajar, propped open by a chair and her room was filled with chatter. Robbie paused in the hall and scowled. It was just like Wendy to let him down, always. Even when they were dating she always seemed too busy for him. He turned to leave when a voice rang out from behind him.

“Robbie! Come join our scaredy pants party!” It was Mabel, hanging on the doorframe and waving at him with much enthusiasm.

His scowl deepened and he hunched to hide his embarrassment. “I-I'm not scared! I came by to talk to Wendy, not babysit.”

“Seriously, Robbie?!” said Wendy from somewhere inside. “Just get in here.” Begrudgingly, he obliged.

“Ugh, it’s worse than I thought,” he spat as he surveyed the party. Mabel belly-flopped onto the bed with Wendy and Pacifica and Dipper, Soos and Gideon occupied the bare floor.

“We couldn't sleep,” said Mabel. “So we’re having a… what would you call this?”

“A… round table discussion, I think.” replied Dipper. “But without the… table.”

“It's just super creepy,” said Pacifica, pulling her knees close and scooting away from Mabel slightly.

“Okay…” scoffed Robbie who stood awkwardly in the doorway until Soos lightly slapped the ground next to him.

“Pull up some floor, dude,” he said. Hesitantly, the teen joined them, stifling a yawn. Mabel’s eyes began to sparkle a little.

“Hey! I just got an idea. Why don't we have a crazy awesome sleepover? We can bring everybody’s mattresses in here and everything!”

“And sleep on the floor?” Pacifica’s mouth hung open abhorrently.

“Yeah, it'll be fun!”

Dipper looked around uncertainly. “Are you sure there'll be enough room in here? This room’s kind of small…”

“‘Nuff room for what?” Stan’s question from the doorway startled them all. Gideon in particular froze up like a rabbit and Soos had to poke him to get him to snap out of it.

“We’re all freaked out, Mr. Pines,” said Wendy plainly.

“So we’re having a sleepover!” added Mabel.

“Sleepover, eh? Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” said Stan flatly. Half a dozen worried faces fell and he smiled. “At least not in here. Go grab your mattresses and follow me- check em’ for cash first though.” He disappeared around the corner to wait for them, mumbling something about buried treasure and The Great Motel 8 Jackpot of ‘94.

Mabel thought they looked like a herd of cows as they dragged their sleeping arrangements along, following Stan down one of the long grey halls to a section with a larger open doorway on each side. One, Stan pointed out, was the kitchen and cast a knowing eye towards his handyman and the other was some kind of recreational room full of various chairs, a television in the corner, a pool table and a hideous green carpet to tie it all together.

“It's perfect!” exclaimed Dipper. “Thanks, Grunkle Stan.”

Stan waved him off and followed them in, taking a recliner for himself in the corner.

“Wait, you’re sleeping here too?” sneered Robbie.

“Yep,” growled the old man. “Now go to sleep.” If Ford wasn't going to keep a proper eye on these kids in a place like this, he'd do it himself- and it was way less creepy with others around. He sighed slowly and closed his eyes.

-

Stan awoke to a strange warm, musky smell- and the sudden sensation of something grabbing his leg. He jerked, kicking at the intruder but was met with what felt like many tiny needles in his ankle through the sheets.

“Sonuva-” he yelled, bolting up and preparing to defend himself further when he was met with the masked face and playful chittering of a misplaced raccoon.

He swore halfheartedly and shooed the animal away, eyes trailing around the room disappointedly at the realization that he’d not been dreaming. He looked up at the conspiracy web behind his bed, shrinking a little under its looming, tangled strings, then frowned.

“Wait a second-” he said, whipping his head around at a room that he did not remember falling asleep in. “What the hell?” Then, he heard a scream. Stan bolted out of bed and into the hall, spotting a figure some distance away doing the same. Without his glasses he couldn’t be sure, but the way the blur bounced towards him looked very much like his great niece. She disappeared into another room before he could get her attention and with some haste, he followed. He stopped just outside the door when he heard Mabel’s hushed coos drowned out only slightly by the inconsolable sobbing of a startled Pacifica.

“This is enough!” she wailed.

“It happened to me too, it’s okay!” said Mabel nervously. “I- don’t know how, but-”

Bewildered, Stan turned to leave but came face-to-face with Wendy, who stared at him with the same amount of hurt and confusion he imagined Pacifica was vocalizing. She looked like she was about to say something- ask who did this and why, but she could only cast her gaze at the floor. Stan was accustomed to waking up in strange places but to a group of people who’d never lived livestyle he had, it could be a bit… shocking.

In the background, he could see Dipper flying out of his room in a panic. That's what this all was- panic. Some small part of him wondered if that was the point of… whatever this was or if, perhaps, he was still just dreaming.

“Ohmygosh!” he was yelling. “Ohmygoshohmygosh, Great Uncle Ford!” He skidded down another hall quite suddenly and disappeared from view again.

Stan wanted to yell too, as was his way when anything weird happened that inconvenienced him back home. But there weren't any gnomes here to chase away with a golf club and the confusion was beginning to give him a headache. He was at a loss. He glanced again at Wendy who was still staring at the ground as though she wanted to punch it. Stan cleared his throat as an an idea flickered in his head.

“You, uh…” he furrowed his eyebrows a bit. “You know how to make pancakes?”

She glanced back up at him, a knowing look in her eyes that suggested she might understand that he was just as confused.

“Yeah, sort of. I’m better at bringing em’ back from the grave when Dad burns them.” 

Stan smiled fleetingly. “Grab Soos and meet me in the kitchen in twenty minutes.”

There would be time for the weird later. But for now, breakfast was more important.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a long time since I've written a fanfic, so I apologize for any odd bumps in the road. Thanks and enjoy!


End file.
